


Sincere Heart, Righteous Prayer

by Fandoms_are_my_lifestyle



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Gen, Islam, Islamic References, M/M, Muslim Character, exploration of religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fandoms_are_my_lifestyle/pseuds/Fandoms_are_my_lifestyle
Summary: God, capital-G, to Nicky is pain and fear and desperation. He exists in the people crying out in the middle of a searing hot desert, desperately clinging to the smooth wood of the rosary as pleas for forgiveness and salvation are ripped from one’s throat. He exists apart from the world, merciful and cruel and unforgiving.Allah, to Yusuf, is… creation. Beauty.Allah is the blood-red sun as it hits the sand dunes in the early morning. Allah is honey-sweet baklava and family dinners after missions. Allah is Yusuf and Nicky, together in life and death and life again.Or: An exploration of belief, prayer, and immortality, because religion is more complicated than we think.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien & Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf & Nicky | Nicolò & Quynh, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova & Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90





	Sincere Heart, Righteous Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my beta, [Selly;](http://mjolnir-in-the-elevator.tumblr.com) , who was willing to put up with me and all of my questions regarding Islam and it's various traditions. This one's for you! xx
> 
> Title from a teaching by Ibn Tamiyahh: "The two armies that can never be defeated are the sincere heart and the righteous dua."

1\. Nicky

Yusuf wakes for the first time after death on a sand dune in the desert, sand stained red with the blood of his brothers, and the first thing he sees is the fire of sunrise. An inferno of color paints itself across the sky, almost as if Allah has taken the blood of his soldiers and strewn it across the sky in a sign of mourning.

Yusuf lets his head sink back against the sand, allowing the silence of the dawn to soothe his senses. In a moment he will rise, the same way he has for as long as he can remember, and he will start his day. It is already fajr, time for prayer, and the world is silent as he rises.

He does not know why he is still alive, covered in his own blood and others’ blood, and surrounded by death as he is, but he knows who he has to thank for this day he has been given.

There are no beautiful braided rugs to kneel on in the middle of the desert, so Yusuf - as he has for as long as he’s been fighting for the freedom of his people - strips off his tunic and lays it against the warming sand, trying his best to find Kaaba according to the rising sun, and scrubs his hands clean with the small amount of water left in his pack. 

The heat of the sun engulfs him as he stands, reciting words so familiar they’re practically engraved on his heart, taking his time as he goes through each position of salah. He has just begun Sujud, bowing his forehead close to the ground in reverence, when there is the cold press of steel against his skin.

The man behind him is blood-soaked and wide-eyed, breathing so hard Yusuf is almost surprised to see him still standing. He wears the sign of the cross, however, and Yusuf’s blood runs cold. This man is no friend.

The man’s sword is steady on Yusuf’s neck as he speaks, and though Yusuf does not know the language, he knows to be afraid.

He is alone, defenseless. His sword is gone, his shoes are off, and he is about to die. He knows this.

Yusuf is glad that if he has to die, his last act was to praise Allah. Isn’t that the best way to go?

The last thing he feels is the cold of steel. It is a sharp contrast to the warmth of the rising sun on his back.

He sleeps.

And, against all odds, he _wakes_.

* * *

_The first time he lays with Nicolo is an epiphany._

_They lie together afterwards, bodies cooling in the chilled air of the Moroccan Desert, and Yusuf stares, marveling at his luck. Nicolo is half asleep besides him, blonde hair rumpled and eyes closed, but he shifts closer to Yusuf almost unconsciously. It is the best moment Yusuf has had the pleasure to experience._

_He looks down at this marvel of a man on his chest, heart full, and he thinks about coincidence._

_He thinks about enemies on different sides of the same war. He thinks about immortality and the chance to choose to spend forever at the side of another person._

_He thinks about how his mother used to tell him, 'there is no such thing as coincidence, only Allah'._

_As Yusuf fades into the warmth and safety of sleep, he finds himself hoping that she was right._

_After all, only Allah could have led him to something as magical as this._

* * *

2\. Andromache

The first time Yusuf declines a drink from Andromache, the woman looks at him like he's grown a second head. 

She glances from him to the bottle of cheap wine and back, then to Nicolo, then back to Yusuf. 

“There’s no such thing as god,” the Scythian tells him. "If there was, we'd be the closest." The Romans worshipped her as a god once, Yusuf had heard her say more than once; she had been a mark of triumph for the weak, appearing to save those who needed saving before vanishing once again into the shadows. 

Yusuf levels her with a stare, making sure to keep any judgment or hostility out of his gaze. 

"You have your beliefs, and I have mine," he says softly. “I do not begrudge you yours, and I ask that you extend to me the same courtesy.” 

He turns to leave before stopping, turning to face her once more. 

"It is a lonely life, choosing not to believe," he says. His voice is soft, almost whimsical. "It is a long road before us, or so it seems, and I choose to believe that I do not walk it alone."

"Even without your god, you are not alone," Andromache counters, looking from Yusuf to Nicolo and back. "Or are we not good enough for you?"

"You are my family, Andromache, and Allah is my God. One does not contradict the other." 

He turns to exit and Andromache watches him go, stepping out into the Turkish heat without a glance behind him, before turning to face Nicolo. 

“And you?” She asks quietly, almost contemplatively. “Do you choose to believe in this as well?”

Nicolo stares back at her. 

“I fought in a war for a god I thought would thank me for it,” he says finally, “and I walked away with the eternal love of my life. I no longer truly believe in that god, cannot begin to say what I would think if I did continue to believe after seeing all the harm that has been done in the name of that god. But he sees good in his God, Andromache, and I will not resent him for it. I love him far too much for that.” 

With that, he turns and follows Yusuf out of their newest safe house. Andromache stares after them, sipping her drink contemplatively.

They never speak of the topic again.

* * *

_The deaths that take the longest to wake from are the worst._

_Just because they are immune to death, one may think they would be immune to pain as well, but they are not. Yusuf feels the slowly closing wound in his side. He feels the quicker healing of the shrapnel wound on his temple._

_Yusuf opens his eyes and, just as he has all the other times he's died, he sends up a quiet prayer for the fact that he has survived this death, too._

_"Bismullah," he says softly. Thank you, Allah. Thank you for allowing me to see another day._

_Nicolo - Nicky, now, though Yusuf still likes the way his Love's longer name rolls off his tongue - had been next to him when the explosion had gone off, but now-_

_Yusuf shifts, looks around until he sees the other man. Nicky is lying a few feet away, arms flung wide. His eyes are still closed._

_"Nicolo," Yusuf calls. "Nicolo. Destati. Nicolo."_

_As always, his heart skips a beat as Nicky shudders, coughing. His eyes are so green, so beautiful. Yusuf's heart resumes beating._

_"Alhamdulillah", he breathes, letting his head loll against Nicky's chest. "Alhamdulillah."_

_The relief pours out of him and he laughs, laughs like his world is ending and beginning anew because, in a way, it has._

_Green eyes meet brown, and the world begins again._

* * *

3\. Booker

It makes sense, somehow, that the Frenchman has such a devotion to food. 

Though the era of Napoleon was fairly good to France, Booker had still been a soldier - and if a soldier appreciates anything, it's a warm bed and a hot meal. Booker is no different. 

It's the main reason, Yusuf - now known as Joe - supposes, that Booker judges him for fasting on Ramadan. 

Well. To say "judge" is a bit harsh, maybe. He doesn't judge Joe so much as he- just doesn't understand it. 

"But why?" Booker can be heard asking Nicky or Andy incredulously. "What's the point?"

Booker hasn't gotten up the balls to ask Joe himself, which Joe is kind of thankful for, because if he did- 

Joe's not entirely sure he'd know what to say. 

Why? Why does he fast? 

It is a complicated question. Joe does not know how to explain the way fasting reminds him of his family, doesn't know how to say that he can't remember his mother's voice but he can remember the dates she'd serve at each break-fast. He doesn't know how to explain to Booker that Eid al-Fitr had been Yusuf's father's favorite day of the year, how his grandmother and his mother had worked over an open flame to prepare the night's feast. 

He's not sure he can explain it all in words. 

"What does it matter?" Nicky asks. His Nicolo, always sticking up for those who cannot defend themselves. It makes Joe's heart melt. 

"It makes him happy," Andy says. "Who are we to judge him for something that makes him happy?"

Booker is silent for a long time, after that. 

Booker never does ask Joe about the fasting. It's alright, though; he understands it a little more, now. 

Who is Booker to take away his family's happiness, after all? 

That's the last thing he wants to do.

* * *

_The first time Yusuf journeys to Mecca for Hajj, he is hundreds of deaths old._

_The deaths weigh on him; he feels a thousand years old and far too young, all at once._

_At Mecca, however, he finally feels at peace._

_He walks, surrounded by people who are both like him and unlike him. They are all united by one common goal, one common factor. Everyone walking next to him is a Muslim, united in their desire to follow the footsteps of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. An elderly woman had given him tea, earlier; a younger man had given him figs._

_Here, he is both small and large, insignificant and important._

_The journey to Mecca is one of the most incredible moments of his life._

_He can't wait to tell Nicky about it when he gets home._

* * *

4\. Nile

"Do you still believe?"

The question startles Joe out of his thoughts. He's knelt on the floor of the balcony, rolling up his prayer rug after having finished Maghrib. Nile stands on the other end of the balcony, staring out at the setting sun. One of her hands is playing with the small gold cross that hangs around her neck. Joe stands, crossing to lean on the balcony beside her. 

They're in Greece, and the ruby sunset paints the Mediterranean waters in jewel tones that make Joe ache for colored pencils and his sketchbook. The white buildings provide a lovely contrast to Nile's profile, adding an ethereal glow to her dark skin. 

"Do I still believe…"

"In God." Nile says, glancing over at him. "You've been alive over nine centuries, and you still pray as many times a day as you can. But…"

"I do," Joe says. He meets Nile's eyes without judgement, letting her see the conviction that resides there. "I believe that there is a God who is listening to us, who has kept us alive to this day. I choose to believe that that God is Allah, god of my father, god of my mother." 

He pauses, then continues softly. "It is not on me to tell you what to believe, Nile. Only you can decide that."

Nile swallows, turning to face the ocean. The conflict in her face is clear, and Joe wants to hug her and tell her that it will all be okay, but he restrains himself. 

"My mom believed," Nile says finally. "She used to talk to Jesus like he was there, you know, in the living room just waiting to hear from her." 

She laughs, but it's a hollow, broken laugh. "When my dad died, and she started drowning… I blamed him. Jesus. I thought that if he was real, he would have… I don't know, saved him? My dad, I mean. And things were getting bad, and I just thought… it's better to think he doesn't exist, because if he does, and he let my dad die…"

"Then he doesn't care." Joe finishes softly. 

He turns to face the water, staring out as if the ocean will help him know what to say. The ocean does not speak, however, and silence settles between them. 

"I can not help you decide what you believe," he says finally, "and believe me when I say that I understand your pain. But to me, it is comforting to know that I am not alone in this world, that there is someone greater who knows more than I do." 

He stands up straight then, resting a hand on Nile's shoulder for a moment before heading towards the door. He pauses just before the doorway, however, and turns back to her. 

"No matter what you choose to believe, we will be here for you," he says softly. "We're family." 

She smiles at him, and there's light in her eyes that he hadn't noticed before. She really is beautiful. 

"Thanks, Yusuf," she says, and Joe smiles, pushing the door open. 

He'll be there for her when she's ready.

* * *

_The night before he and Nicky marry for the first time, Yusuf goes to the mosque._

_He_ _finishes Isha, then adds a Dua in gratitude to Allah._

_There are a million things for him to thank Allah for: his continued life, his ability to travel, his family._

_And Nicolo, of course._

_Always Nicolo._

_A thousand Dua wouldn't be enough to thank Allah for placing Nicolo in Yusuf's life, but that doesn't mean he won't try to express it._

_He'll spend all his lifetimes being grateful to spend them by Nicolo's side._

* * *

+1. Nicky (Again)

Nicky says that centuries of life are more than enough to get one to give up on their belief in God. 

God, capital-G, to Nicky is pain and fear and desperation. He exists in the people crying out in the middle of a searing hot desert, desperately clinging to the smooth wood of the rosary as pleas for forgiveness and salvation are ripped from one’s throat. He exists apart from the world, merciful and cruel and unforgiving.

Allah, to Yusuf, is… creation. Beauty. 

Allah is the blood-red sun as it hits the sand dunes in the early morning. Allah is honey-sweet baklava and family dinners after missions. Allah is Yusuf and Nicky, together in life and death and life again. 

He can’t prove to anyone that Allah exists. He can’t always convince himself. 

But Yusuf wakes up again, once again covered in blood with the sun on his face, and he believes. 

To him, that is enough. 

_{end}_

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even in this fandom y'all what am I doing 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr: [fandoms-are-my-lifestyle](http://fandoms-are-my-lifestyle.tumblr.com/)


End file.
